A very honest and often comical view into the ins and outs (pun intended) of living and loving as a fiercely independent woman. If you spend any time around me, chances are you'll end up in the stories, so be warned. I change the names to protect the guilty, but I write with a candor that alarms some and charms others.

19 July 2007

Deck the Halls...

The proposed subject for today's SBT (Sex Blog Thursday) was "In flagrante delicto" or "caught in the act".

I began wracking my brain...there were two incidents that came to mind. The first hearkens back to simpler, more innocent times.

I was in high school. I was still a virgin and in no hurry to give it up, but I could make out for hours. My make-out buddy of the month was a young lad named Sherman. He was pretty much in keeping with pattern---the loner weirdo musician. I would always see him sitting by himself around campus, wearing circular shades and strumming his guitar, his hood pulled low to hide his face. I don't really recall the nature of our meeting but I do remember the epic make-out sessions, and the 4 hour long phone calls where I would listen to him playing guitar and singing for me. Sherman was a senior and a teacher's aide. I was a sophomore and...well, not terribly concerned with structured academics. I would skip classes and we would meet while he was supposed to be in the library "studying". Our favorite spot was a hallway that ran between the back of the gym and the shop classrooms. It was usually deserted. One crisp December morning, we were at our usual spot. He leaned his back against the wall as I reached up to kiss him. Those were the rapturous kisses of youth, a dichotomy of innocence and lust that can transport you beyond dingy hallways and the smell of motor oil and sweat from the nearby auto shop and gym. So transported were we, that we failed to hear the approaching tromping of dozens of feet and the sound of voices raised in song. Every year during the holidays, the school choir would make rounds through the school singing Christmas carols. In the midst of a passionate kiss, the double doors near us burst open and a couple of dozen carolers spilled into that seldom trod hallway, merrily chirping "Deck the Halls". They hardly missed a beat as every single one of them turned to leer at us with prurient glee. I just buried my head in his chest in embarrassment. Needless to say, teachers were informed, and the incident greatly curtailed our relationship. He lived "way out" in North Myrtle and neither of us drove, so school was the only place we could really spend time together. Years later, when I had moved to Portland, I would still receive the occasional phone call from him. It was always around 3 a.m. He had joined the military and had, presumably, gone on to better things, but apparently still remembered our time together.

"Your mom is so cool," he would slur into the phone, "She always recognizes me when I call""That's because you're the only drunk asshole who calls her at three in the morning asking for my new number..." I would point out. Still, we would reminisce for a bit. His drunken nostalgia would bring back fond memories...until the angry part of the drunk would set in."You were a whore!" he would scream into the phone."You were fucking all those guys in your parents' basement, weren't you?"Any protests to the contrary were futile and I would usually end up hanging up on him and unplugging my phone...until the next month when a phone call would awaken my sweet mum at 3 a.m....

The second occasion was several years, and a few misadventures later. I had a gentleman friend who restored old Volvo's in his spare time. It was a beautiful summer afternoon, and we hopped in the Volvo and headed out to the nude beach on Sauvie Island. We almost wrecked getting there. I was wearing a skirt and one of his hands, and most of his attention, were focused on what was underneath it. I led him to a nearby beach I knew, past the more well-known, crowded beaches. We were alone and all worked up from the drive there. We grabbed a blanket and I led him into a small stand of trees for cover. We got completely lost in each other. He always did enjoy looking up at me while we were having sex. I sat astride him, grinding down on him until...I heard the sound of tires on gravel. I looked up.In our fervor we had neglected to see the nearby private roadway. The trees lent us cover on three sides, but became rather sparse toward said road. An S.U.V had pulled up, and though I could not see the faces of the occupants, I could tell that they were all looking at us. What to do?I smiled and rode on like a champ. And my proud mount? He never missed a stroke!The vehicle continued on after about a minute. A few months later I saw a story on the local news that they were once again trying to shut down the nude beaches there. The neighbors had complained about all the naked people and the shenanigans that ensued, practically on their lawns. It brought a fond smile to my face.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Who is that girl?

I have a penchant for getting myself into odd scrapes and misadventures, and a knack for storytelling. Put the two together and you get "The Misadventures of a Coat Check Girl", the blog I've maintained since late 2005.